


Dazzled by the New

by Silberias



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dorne makes everything better, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4426880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya and Gendry rescue Sansa from the Red Keep shortly after Ned's execution, and the three eventually make their way down to Dorne. Arya is the brains, Gendry works as a smith, and Sansa strums her little harp and sings pretty songs--catching the eye of Prince Oberyn Martell once they reach Dorne puts all of them on a course of reunion with their pasts but none of them want to leave that past behind more than Sansa herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alijah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alijah/gifts).



> Title taken from "Strangers When We Meet" by David Bowie.
> 
> Here we go!

When they reached Dorne, it had been two years since the North had declared themselves independent. At first there had been whispers that this was Lord Stark's plan all along--to put up his own son as King of the Realm. Then when Tywin Lannister had called his banners, unbidden by the King, some had said the man moved to put the Kingslayer on the Iron Throne before the Starks could get there. What was common knowledge, however, was that those in the Red Keep had ordered the execution of Lord Eddard Stark--and that the man's entire household was slaughtered on the day of his arrest.

Nothing was said of the whereabouts of the man's daughters, not even Lady Sansa who had been beloved of King Joffrey.

There were rumors that they'd been murdered as well, but there were also rumors that Targaryen loyalists had smuggled the girls to Essos to wed the Beggar King Viserys--ensuring the loyalty of House Stark with a double wedding to the right and true King of Westeros. What wasn't known, however, was that a bastard of Robert Baratheon had smuggled the girls out of the city and into the Reach where none of their faces would be known.

Lady Sansa became instead Elia Rivers, claiming herself a bastard of an unremarkable Tully who had died in the Ironborn Rebellion. Lady Arya took the name Asha Stone, for they could not tread too close to an identity that linked her too closely to the Starks. Their companion was known in King's Landing as Gendry, and he changed his name to Davan Waters to keep himself safe from those who might do him ill.

So they made their way through the Reach--Sansa with her hair dyed nut brown and worn completely loose about her face to disguise her Tully looks, Arya with her hair cropped close to her face but always in her eyes to disguise the mournful Stark gray held there, and Gendry keeping his bull helm a viciously guarded secret. Gendry plied his trade a blacksmith while Arya watched over Sansa--Sansa who had brought her harp on their journey and played it with great skill for a few coins in the towns they would stay in. Her voice brought them more reliable money than Gendry's skill with iron and steel did, for it cost pennies to listen to her sing songs while the silver stags for ironworking were much dearer as war overtook the land.

"We should go to Dorne," Arya said one night, watching Sansa gently tune the strings on her harp as Gendry tried to appear casual as he sat down close to the younger girl. How anyone hadn't known he was Robert Baratheon's get was a mystery, Sansa thought as she watched him. They said her sister had the look of their aunt--and watching the two of them together she wondered how things might have gone if King Robert had managed to wed his fair Lyanna.

"And why should we go there? Your b--Robb Stark's army is closer than its ever been, we could go there. I'm sure an army always has need for a blacksmith, at least," Gendry countered, divvying up the cheese and bread that they'd bought in the last town.

"They'll want us to marry people," Sansa said, her voice low even as her fingers slowly picked out a merry tune she'd been practicing on, "I'm not sure I want to ever marry anyone, not anymore. Look at the Queen, look at--look at," she didn't finish her sentence but Arya took it as a supporting argument.

"They won't make us marry anyone in Dorne, and no one in Dorne's seen a Stark or a Baratheon in ages. No one will recognize us, and we could probably find a place to live somewhere there. Really live, and not worry."

Gendry passed out the food and made a baffled gesture--he was overruled, and they would go to Dorne.

They crossed the Dornish Marches once they'd saved up enough money to buy and feed a horse--it was an old nag, but it supported their belongings and provided a bit of warmth on the blustery cold nights of the Dornish Marches and Prince's Pass. There was no money at first to dye Sansa's hair, and so she and Arya washed it as best they could, leaving it a ruddy brown that steadily bleached to a lighter red as they travelled.

Sansa's fingers, ever more clever on her harp as the months passed, landed them one night in the great hall at the Stinger Keep of House Qorgyle in Sandstone. It was the largest, and noblest, gathering they had ever attended as entertainment--and as Lady Qorgyle had heard of them through her servants and smallfolk a great many people were in attendance to see Sansa strum her harp and sing her songs. Gendry and Arya were given seats far below the main dais, but close to where Sansa sat alone on the musician's platform. Her hair was now nearly its original color, and she wore a dress made from sapphire blue fabric that she'd sewn herself--the fabric had come from two bolts of cloth given to Gendry as payment for the creation of iron bars for the tailor's windows, and Sansa had made good use of it for all three of their needs.

Her voice seemed to cast a spell on the Dornish, Arya saw as she looked around the hall. Men and women alike were transfixed as she sang of the War of the Ninepenny Kings in high mournful tunes--followed soon by rollicking songs she'd learned from smallfolk in the Reach about the heathen practices of the Westerlanders and their lusts for gold.

"Elia Rivers, you are a treasure to be sure," Lady Qorgyle's son announced when Sansa finished singing a song she'd composed on their way to Dorne--it was of the exploits, such as they were known, of Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard. He was, she'd told Arya and Gendry, a true knight--and so was proof that not all knights were as terrible as those that inhabited King's Landing. Neither Arya nor Gendry had had the heart to tell her otherwise.

"Pray tell, my lady, where you learned such a song?" another man at the table asked after he'd wandered close by. Both Arya and Gendry watched him closely--for he would not hurt Sansa, not after everything she'd been through. They'd sooner gut him and escape than put her through an hour of company such as Joffrey's. He was of middle years, in his late thirties or perhaps in his forties, and tall as he stood next to Sansa.

Sansa colored at his question and murmured an answer that they couldn't hear as the noise grew in the hall as the food was served. The man laughed goodnaturedly and took half a step back from where he stood.

"It was meant in no offense, a courtesy only, please accept my apology. For such a woman to write so feeling a song about mine own uncle is touching," he replied, and Arya turned white as a sheet she knew. Standing so easily between herself and her sister was the Red Viper of Dorne, lounging like a snake about to strike.

"I--I thank you for your compliments," Sansa said and Arya grimaced though neither could see her. It was the one thing they tried to keep at a minimum--Sansa receiving compliments she had to give answer to, for she was worse than Arya at imitating the words and accents of the smallfolk.

"Are there to be musicians for the dancing or has Lady Yleyn asked you play the whole evening?" Arya had her heart in her throat--they should never have done this, no matter what good it would do their purses!

"She wanted only for my singing, my lord," Sansa said, her eyes thankfully cast down as a commoner's ought to be. Surely Sansa--surely if I knew then Sansa might, Arya thought desperately as the exchange lengthened.

"Then, Elia Rivers, would you share a dance once the feasting has ended?" To Arya's horror Sansa only sank further into her courtesies as the Red Viper plied her with his own. They would be found out within this very evening--and executed for bearing the blood of Starks and Baratheons.

"Of course, my lord, if you so wish." This brought Prince Oberyn up short, though, and his arm froze as he extended his hand towards Sansa to take her own and brush a kiss there.

"My wish is inconsequential. Dance with me, or any other in Dorne, at your own pleasure. I ask only in hope of being considered." Sansa managed to give him a mortified nod, letting him guide her to her seat with Arya and Gendry as the other musicians took to the platform. They had no room now for recriminations, so Arya merely tucked herself as close to Sansa as she could to stop her sister's shaking. Many men had made lewd comments before but somehow Sansa had been able to brush them aside as easily as breathing--it was this man, though, and how he afforded her some respect that had her running scared.

Arya well remembered Joffrey at the first--he had possessed every courtesy and knew every fine word also, and they all knew how that had turned out. Arya had run on the day of the arrests, befriending Gendry during the weeks afterwards, and after her father's execution had infiltrated the Red Keep once more and stolen her sister from beneath the Lannister's noses. Sansa had barely spoken for a fortnight afterwards, too mortified from her nightmares of seeing Father's death.

"That's the--"

"Red Viper, Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell," Sansa whispered, "the youngest son of Princess Loreza and her husband Prince Olyvar Toland. What do I do?" her voice was thready with desperation and Arya was at a loss until Gendry awkwardly cleared his throat.

"It might not be a trick," he said, and Arya kicked him under the table.

"It must be a trick. If you say no he'll have us arrested, if you say yes..."she trailed off, for she'd heard enough of the stories in the Reach of how the Dornish behaved. It was childish of her but she did not want her sister dragged to some strange man's bed--not Sansa, who was so sweet and good at being a lady, whose purity would actually matter were they found somehow.

"I have to then," Sansa said resolutely, though Arya could feel her sister trembling as she reached out a hesitant hand for some of the food they'd been given. There was no time to slip her sister a dagger, though, between when she sat down and when the dancing started later on.

* * *

"I have never seen a girl quite of your look, Elia," Prince Oberyn said as he effortlessly led her in a dance, one where with every step Sansa knew her cover was being taken apart, "though I have seen Ser Brynden Tully, once when I was a boy. His red hair fascinated me."

"I--I am not well acquainted with him, my lord, I was raised far from Riverrun," it was not a lie, not something he could throw back at her later. It was Mother who kept up correspondence with Uncle Brynden.

"But not without some comforts and refinements," he replied as they paused briefly between songs, quickly taking up a new one where Sansa's feet continued to betray her, "for your skills with the harp and knowledge of songs are not to be disparaged."

"I did not want as a child. It was a kind home, my lord, though my father's wife did not approve of bastards," she said, letting him hold her closer for a few steps to avoid colliding with some other dancers. Her hair whipped out behind them as Prince Oberyn turned in a quick circle to miss another pair, a shining sweep of bright red in the candlelight of the hall. From Arya's dire looks and her own observations she knew she would be in this man's bed tonight, and the thought of it made tears spring to her eyes.

"And it is a home you miss, surely?" Sansa nodded, too caught up in her own thoughts to properly listen to him.

"That is a shame, certainly, but perhaps one day you will return. In the meantime, I beg you let me steal you away to Sunspear for there are a great many who would adore your lovely voice. If, of course, you consent to it." Sansa looked up at him briefly, seeing in his face and form the reason so many women had given him children and wondering if he'd somehow decided she was to be the next.

"What would you require from me for such an honor, my lord? I can provide but little." Normally Gendry was there, just over her shoulder, glowering at whatever man wanted to have his way with her but not tonight. No, Gendry had to sit with Arya and try to salvage the disguise that they were but smallfolk or bastards uprooted by the War of the Five Kings.

"Only that you go to Sunspear joyfully and of your own will. I know what it is like to wander the world alone, I know how it entices but also how it grieves the heart." Sansa was at a loss for words, but thankfully the song ended and Prince Oberyn led her back to her seat--and she tried not to blush too deeply when he brushed a kiss to her knuckles.

"Until later, Elia Rivers."

Sansa was mortified, barely able to eat the food that Gendry and Arya both plied her with, for the name she'd chosen for herself no doubt struck close to Prince Oberyn's heart. She would not be able to melt away from his memory, for his dear sister had been named _Elia._ Sansa had chosen it, at first, because she had felt quite tragic upon fleeing the Capitol. Now it meant she would be under close scrutiny by the Dornish.

A few other men came to claim her hand, having seen how gracefully she moved with Prince Oberyn, and Sansa was fairly confident she did not step on their toes despite her mind not being on the dance at hand. The Martell man watched her occasionally as she twirled about the dance floor, his dark eyes appreciative though no leer crawled across his lips, and Sansa wondered if he would perhaps dance with her again. He was not unattractive and he had been swee--No. She had lost a father and an identity for thinking a man courteous and handsome.

They were given rooms in the keep and after the feast Gendry made sure that he escorted them there--until quick steps were heard and Prince Oberyn's voice bid them wait. Sansa's heart raced as she and Arya stopped, Gendry glowering behind them. This was when her run of safety would come to an end, and she would be too unclean to ever return to her life before. Thank the Gods her singing brought her coin, for even a hazy dream of being a maiden aunt living in Winterfell was going to be taken from her.

"Elia--" there was warm invitation in Prince Oberyn's voice until he grew close enough to see the look on her face, "what has happened?" his tone was icy, then, fury quickly taking him. Sansa trembled at the change in his mood, afraid of him.

"Nothin' has happened, milord," Gendry was quick to say, straightening to his full height to try and intimidate Prince Oberyn--the man scoffed at Gendry's attempt.

"Elia is white as a sheet, do not lie to me boy. Come, girl, unburden your heart--no harm shall come to you," he said as he gently took her arm, and Sansa sucked in a sobbing breath as he led her away from her sister. If only her moonblood was upon her, he would leave her alone.

"You are safe, lovely girl. Tell me what troubles you," his voice was soft, his touch on her arm lighter than a feather. There was, however, a dire look cast towards Gendry--as though Prince Oberyn somehow blamed her fear on her companion. Though perhaps it had the look of abuse--he was much bigger than either her or Arya, and it was obvious that Arya was the mind driving their small group. Though many claimed it of her, Sansa was not stupid--but she had wolf's blood in her nonetheless and she wanted him to let her go. Her next words were carefully crafted then, to show her immediately what kind of man Prince Oberyn was when he thought himself unobserved by his peers.

"You," her voice shook, "I'm afraid of--of you." And, like the breaking of a magic spell, Prince Oberyn's touch on her arm ended in an instant. His eyes, dark as onyx, studied her carefully in the candlelight as she took one and then two-three-four steps back from him. She longed to be outside, even sleeping on the rocky ground in the Marches in the cold would b better than a sleepless night here among the Qorgyles.

"Why?"

Sansa took in a steadying breath, drawing herself up to a respectable posture but not one too ladylike lest he suspect her. They should have saved their coin a little longer and continued to dye her hair--she looked too much like her Lady Mother, and Arya looked far too much like Lady Lyanna, for her to go in secret for long.

"You are the Red Viper, and you mean to--to take me to your bed, keep me as a toy, p-put children in me even, and discard me when I no longer amuse you." She could hardly get the last part out, but she managed to hold his eyes as she spoke. Her heart thundered after she confessed the last, terror overtaking her as it hadn't since she'd seen Joffrey order her father's death rather than give him mercy.

Prince Oberyn for his part was shocked into silence, his mouth opening and closing several times before he stiffened and gave her a formal bow.

"I apologize if that seemed my intent, for it was not. You and your companions are still welcome in Sunspear, and may travel with my company if you choose. If not, please know a place awaits you there. Goodnight, and again my deepest apologies," he said before turning on his heel to leave. Sansa watched him go, promising herself she would lock her chamber door or perhaps sleep in the same bed as her sister. It was not safe to believe men's words, she knew.

* * *

Sansa did not sleep much that night, getting up early from where she'd curled with Arya and getting dressed in the plain homespun dress that she normally wore--the blue clothing was for formal occasions only, to give the three of them a bit of respectability should they attend a town gathering in the towns and hamlets they visited. In the hall a few servants were just beginning to tidy the festivities from the previous night, and Sansa got directions to the kitchens so she might have a piece of bacon or a boiled egg.

"Elia!" Prince Oberyn was already sitting at the table in the center of the kitchen, though he rose to stand when she appeared in the doorway. Sansa tried not to quail under his gaze as she meekly asked one of the cooks if a bit of food might be spared.

"My lord," she finally replied, "I apologize for my words last night. They were out of turn. I--I am willing to--" he held up a hand to stop her, and Sansa trailed off obediently enough. She wished that she'd just waited for Arya and Gendry to wake, for then she would not be alone for this conversation.

"You are lovely, Elia, and what's more you know it. You are recently come from a place where women are not valued--but now you are in such a place. The Dornish might offer relatively little in the matter of jewels and gold, but we are warm you'll find." There was apology in his eyes and tone, and so Sansa chose to sit across from him when one of the cooks pressed a plate of Dornish fried eggs into her hands. Arya and Gendry would yell at her for accepting what were probably lies, but it was too early in the morning after a sleepless night to think too much. Instead she offered her hand to him as he sat down once again, and managed not to tremble when he gently took it.

"If you still wish to have us at Sunspear we will come, as long as we three are welcome there." He gave her a soft smile at that and nodded. They shared a quiet breakfast together, and Sansa wondered if perhaps the tales of the Red Viper had been exaggerated somehow. This man was laughing and handsome, with none of the violence in him that the stories spoke of. In fact, Sansa did not see anything resembling that fearsome person for another year--when after playing and singing for a courtly party in Sunspear a guest from Essos was a little too free with his attention to her.

Sansa begged Prince Oberyn to reconsider the duel the man challenged him to--she told him she did not consider it too much a slight, she was only a bastard girl, that he needn't trouble himself over her--when he had turned to her and kissed her softly on the mouth to stop her words.

"You stay in Sunspear under my protection, and have been my guest for this year, and I intend to make it clear that my word is not to be contravened, Elia Rivers," he said, his voice firm but gentle. Sansa did not like being gathered up by his paramour, Ellaria, as the two men faced one another. She did not like his cocky grin, thinking not on men like the Laughing Storm or Aemon the Dragonknight but on Rickard and Brandon Stark--and when it seemed that Prince Oberyn started to lose over something so simple as a leering jape she screamed for it to end, crying herself hoarse.

It was after the match when Prince Oberyn's hands gently carded her hair from her face, a soft smile lighting his own, that she even realized she'd fainted. She was in bed, tucked in with a few of his younger daughters--his own Elia clinging to her side like a limpet, petting her shoulder. Though the girl was closer to Arya in mischief, sharing the same name made Sansa special to her somehow.

"My little singer, you needn't have worried for me," he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. Arya sat at her side, her face scrunched up in anger. Sansa burst into tears once more, missing her mother and brothers, missing her father who had died so terribly--and she had been so afraid.

"Are you alright?" he laughed at her question, squeezing her hand.

"Of course, of course. It was to third blood and he never even came close, my darling Elia," he replied.

"Please never do that again, Prince Oberyn," she quietly begged, not letting go of his hand when he made to stand. She had never felt so safe, since her father's death, than she had here in Sunspear. Every feast they held she played and sang, dressed in quietly beautiful dresses, and traded heated kisses sometimes with this man but nothing more. No one looked askance at her for any of it--and Arya's 'Asha' was growing ever more proficient with her little sword, while Gendry's 'Davan' worked at a forge out in the shadow city. There was no guarantee, without a marriage of some sort, that she would be allowed to stay if Prince Oberyn perished.

Sometimes it made her want to tell him the truth--she was not a bastard of a nameless Tully, she was not a bastard at all. She was Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, sister of the King in the North, and she wanted so badly to stay safe. It was Arya who planned some great revenge on the Crown, but Sansa only wanted to weather the rest of the Winter and live in peace. If it meant never hearing someone call her Lady Sansa or compliment her courtesies or tell her she would make a lovely bride and a better mother to some highly born family--so be it.

"I shall not promise, well," he reconsidered, rubbing one thumb comfortingly along the side of her hand, "if you promise me that you will play at the next feast, I will consider not jumping to defend your honor the next time it is slighted. No, it will be much better to have little Asha do the wounding and maiming." Sansa laughed as she murmured her promise, though her head ached, and tried to swat him but it was difficult when he was able to avoid her swipes with a step away from the bed.

* * *

Her promise was vivid in her mind as she hid in the corridor on the night of the next feast, one held several months later--the Martells played host, with little secrecy, to the newlywedded Robb Stark and Daenerys Targaryen. Gendry had spied the guests at the Threefold Gate and run all the way to the palace to tell Arya who then told Sansa. The rebel King and Queen were accompanied by Lady Catelyn Stark and a small party of Northmen. Arya and Sansa were torn, afraid to reveal themselves after three years missing--was their mother somehow still pained? Had she finished grieving their loss? Would they hurt her more for the fact that they'd fled to the Dornish rather than to her side?

It was out of her hands, though, for Prince Oberyn's daughters found her and led her to the great hall to the little platform that had been hers for so many nights over the last year. Her hair was loose, not even a single braid restraining the red hair she'd gotten from her mother, and in her hands the harp that her father had given her for her tenth nameday. Prince Oberyn and his brother had offered to buy a new one for her but she refused. She had so little of her old life left to her she would keep all that she could for as long as possible.

There was a bit of a commotion at the high table as she sat down and began to sing, but it soon quieted. Sansa wondered, as the words of the song fell from her lips, if perhaps Robb and Mother did not recognize her--for surely they would have swept her up and prevented her singing if they did. The fight she engaged in with herself to keep from crying made her voice wavery and hard to control, but she managed several songs before Prince Oberyn's hand rested gently on hers. He was dressed in all his finery as a Prince of Dorne, and now he kneeled at her feet with a shocked expression on his face.

"You are Sansa Stark," he said, not quite a question but not quite a statement. Sansa did not look up at the high table--they'd not come for her yet, and so she would not spare them her glances.

"Yes, Prince Oberyn."

He choked out a laugh and leaned close to her, smoothing both hands on her cheeks and looking into her eyes.

"They do not know yet, would you have me hide you?" It is her turn to choke, this time fighting sobs away. She wanted to talk to Arya, to make this decision together for that was the only thing that had kept her alive since leaving King's Landing. To trust her sister, to give her sister something to trust in turn. To decide things together, no matter Arya's love-affair with Gendry nor Sansa's explorations with Prince Oberyn.

"Have--have they seen Asha?" Oberyn's stunned look told her he thought her alone in her cleverness, and she leaned in to pepper kisses on his face to bring him out of his shock and to pay attention to her. Ellaria had taught her that one--Oberyn was a doe-eyed fool for soft little kisses.

"No, my darling, they've not." She consciously resisted looking towards the high table where her brother supped with Prince Doran and Queen Daenerys and _MOTHER,_ and instead Sansa threaded her fingers through Oberyn's shoulder length hair.

"Then hide me, where they won't find me. Not until I can talk to A--Asha."

"Of course, my sweet Elia, of course," he murmured, taking her hand and drawing her up close to him--leading her swiftly away from the gathering as other musicians started to seat themselves on the platform. Sansa was grateful to him for using the name she'd given to him at the start, and once they were away from the cloying heat of the feast she pressed him into an alcove and stood on her tip-toes to kiss him--only to sink back when he was not so ardent in his response as he normally was.

"What--"

"You do not owe me such thanks, lovely girl," he started to say before she shoved him back against the wall, glad that he let her for he easily could have pushed past her. Sansa drew his necklace out of his tunic, playing with the metal chains hanging from the pendant.

"I wanted to. I--I always want to," she confessed, her face hot from her blush, "but I couldn't. Not when I was lying to you, not when I couldn't know what I would choose. That--that I would choose Dorne-- choose you--if it was my choice alone."

Oberyn leaned towards her, hesitated, and then leaned in to her again for a long kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him put his arms around her and lift her up. It was a beautiful thing, much like their other kisses but somehow fiercer for the fact that they shared truth between them now rather than the concocted tale she'd lived under these last years. And it would go further tonight--Oberyn asked her softly if she would share herself with him and she nodded as he slid hot kisses down her throat. Perhaps it was selfish--if she was 'ruined' by the Red Viper she would not be a pawn for her brother and his queenly wife. She could stay here in Dorne, with Oberyn and everything she'd grown to love and was her own.

In his chambers she didn't shiver, no it was not nearly cool enough here for that, but her stomach clenched tight as he kissed each inch of revealed skin as he helped her undress. It was a dress she made herself, with cloth purchased with coin she'd earned, not something a dressmaker or army of handmaidens might make for her. It wasn't her favorite, but perhaps now it would be as Oberyn gently pushed the sleeves down her arms and saw to the corset beneath the overdress.

The thought of her mother and brother, still being hosted and treated by the main branch of the Martell family, was far from her as she begged for her lover to hold her tightly--and nearly crying at how perfectly he obeyed her wishes. When he took her maidenhead, after an age of teasing and caressing her, Sansa found it uncomfortable mostly for the strangeness of how full she felt but she did not regret it nor did it bring her tears. Instead all her focus was drawn to minute movements of her hips as he stayed still above her, letting her adjust--though soon it was a game, and she shuddered out a laugh as she rolled and bucked her hips up against his, and he caught her lower lip between his with a playful nip.

"Lovely girl," he groaned, finally starting to slide in and out of her, and Sansa loved him for the slow movement of his hips. She didn't worry about Ellaria finding them, for Ellaria had made it plain that she herself wanted Sansa to join them on occasion, nor did she worry about her mother. This was hers, Oberyn was a man of her own choosing--one who cared for her and listened to her, and made her feel worshipped long before this night.

"Oberyn, Ob--" she didn't want it to end so soon, but his clever fingers played her far better than she played on her little harp and with a soft exclamation she found herself shaking and clenching and curling as close as she could to him--and he stilled for her, kissing her jaw and her eyelids and the corner of her mouth as she calmed and relaxed in his arms. It felt like being made of gold, heavy and burnished to the highest sheen and so very adored.

"No, no," she whimpered when he made to leave her, to spill into his hand most likely, and Oberyn didn't fight her grasp on him. The movements of his hips this second time were a bit faster, hitting a bit deeper almost, and Sansa buried her face into the crook of his neck as she whimpered and cried through another peak. Her lover tried to keep his pace but faltered soon after, grunting and panting her name as he spilled deep inside her. He did not call her _Sansa_ though, instead _Lia, my Lia_ , came from his lips. A single revelation did not change a year's worth of relationship.

"Stay," he said later, after helping her clean herself and sending a servant to bring moon tea with breakfast tomorrow. They were curling up in his bed, close together. Sansa laughed and better fit herself against him, wondering how long he would manage to keep her existance a secret from the royal guests of the Martells. Truly she did not want to go with them--their world was not hers, not anymore at least.

"If Lady Catelyn finds out--"

"Then tell her that I am to marry you if she corners you about it. I know you do not wish for marriage," he replied quickly, kissing her forehead, "but I will not make it your prison so long as you do not make it mine. Elsewise, you may go about as you please." Sansa smiled up at him, sleepy and content. Her father's words drifted into her mind--a man who was kind and gentle and strong. Oberyn Martell was these things and more, she thought as she fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning found her still skin-to-skin with Oberyn, and Sansa might have moved to escape back to her quarters save the fact that one of the servants was already bustling around the room arranging breakfast for them. The tangy-bitter scent of moon tea also made it's way to her nose and Sansa ticked a smile at that, tucking her head once more to Oberyn's shoulder. He would not get her with child unless she stated it as her direct wish, and she adored him for it.

Once she'd wanted babies with golden hair, but now she wondered if perhaps raising a few bastards in Dorne would be more worth her time. Little girls with widows peaks and dark onyx eyes--or perhaps a boy who grew up looking like Father or Uncle Benjen. Oberyn would not demand she keep only to his bed, nor would he allow any lover of hers to harm her. The beautiful, terrifying man she'd thought she met a year ago was still beautiful and terrifying--but she had nothing to fear from him.

They lounged there, in quiet content, until a terrible yelling and commotion started up in the halls outside.

"You have my daughter here--mine own daughter, kept as some--some slave," her mother's voice, low and powerful wasn't so much shrill as thunderous, while Arya's voice tried to make the woman see reason, "and I imagine that singer at the feast was Sansa! Sansa, I'm coming for you sweetling." Sansa groaned and pulled the covers over herself at the sound. Everything they'd heard, since leaving King's Landing, was that Mother was a hellion in search of her brood of children. It was, people whispered, something she would perhaps cling to even in death.

Oberyn merely chuckled and tilted her face up for a kiss--

"Sansa?!" There stood her mother, Lady Catelyn, in the doorway of Oberyn's bedchamber with tears welling in her eyes even as her cheeks flushed with fury. Sansa cried out and wept when her mother seized her arm and tried to drag her out of bed, having no care for Sansa's own nakedness in the midst of her rage.

"I knew it--kept as your bedwarmer, trotted out for feasts--my daughter, you snake, you do this to my daughter!" Behind her mother, Sansa caught a glimpse of Arya as well as Princess Arianne and Ser Daemon Sand. Out in the hallway she could hear Robb's equally incensed voice. She tried to break free of her mother's hold, sobbing as she did so until Oberyn pried Lady Catelyn's fingers from Sansa's arm and then put one of the bedsheets around her shoulders.

"Have a care, Lady Stark, that you do not frighten the girl in your haste," he said, putting himself between Sansa and her mother. Now Lady Catelyn had time to be embarrassed, for he stood as naked as his nameday. Her eyes, Sansa saw as she peeked around Oberyn's shoulder, were fixed resolutely at the Red Viper's face.

"Give me my daughter, Prince Oberyn," her voice sent chills down Sansa's back in a way that reminded her of the last Winter she'd experienced as a young girl, "give me my child or you will pay a price in all seven hells for it."

"Mother, no," Sansa said, stepping so that her mother could see her but still keeping behind Oberyn. She was young, a girl of sixteen years and only entering her third Winter, but she'd endured hardships her mother would never know of. If she wanted to let a Dornish Prince bed her--one who had only offered her kindness in the time she'd known him--then that was what would happen.

"Sansa," her mother's voice was sad and broken, and Sansa wished she'd been brave enough to go to her family instead of hiding in Dorne. She wished she was brave enough to be the gracious lady her birthright dictated she act as, to wed whomever Robb decided was someone needed for this alliance or that--but through this she understood her sister's childish rebellions perhaps better than ever.

"I was afraid, Mother. Arya rescued me, and we--we came here because no one would recognize us. Do not blame Prince Oberyn, though, he," she glanced away from her mother to where Oberyn stood, proud and tall and keeping her from any kind of harm, "he only knew of my true identity last night, probably upon seeing how your face matches mine. He makes me happy," she finished with as she looked once more into her mother's eyes. Part of her wanted to go to her, the other was utterly terrified to do so.

"My sweet girl," Lady Catelyn said, taking a few steps towards Sansa and reaching her hands out, obviously stunned, "no--he is using you. He'll get you with a child and toss you out once you've birthed it if not before." Tears sprung to Sansa's eyes, an ugly anger roiling in her belly, and she backed away from her mother--not to the bed but to the table set up by the window and picked up the cup of moon tea. She saw better, as she walked back to the tablaeux before her, who had been trying to stop her mother and brother. There with Princess Arianne, Ser Daemon, and Arya were a few of Prince Oberyn's greatest friends, as well as Ellaria Sand, and indeed out in the hallway she heard Robb's frustrated voice.

"If that is so, Mother," the word felt so strange in her mouth after so long, "why did he send for this when I asked?" She held the cup out to her mother, barely letting their fingers touch as Lady Catelyn took it and sniffed at the contents. Sansa tried to stand as tall and proud as she could despite being wrapped in a bedsheet, with her lover standing entirely bare without any shame next to her.

"Mother what--whoa, whoa, no," Robb started, his voice angry as the silence stretched. Mother stood frozen, after smelling the moon tea and knowing it for what it was, and did not acknowledge her son's quick entrance and hastier about-face.

Sansa inched towards Oberyn, eventually curling up against his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist as she watched her mother resolutely set the cup of tea aside and stare at them pointedly.

"You will marry her." Her lover chuckled, his entire being at ease despite the confrontation.

"I will marry her if she wishes to marry me, my lady," he replied. Her mother made a frustrated sound and went to Robb's side, whispering with him for a few moments.

"Prince Oberyn," Robb's voice was heavy as he turned towards them once again, "you have ruined my sister's honor. If you will not marry her, I will ask satisfaction from you," Arya gasped and moved to take Robb's hand, to stop his words but he shook her off, "what say you?" Oberyn laughed, perhaps increasing the tension between Mother and Robb but easing Sansa's own worries.

"What say you," he mimicked as he looked down at Sansa, "will you have me?" Sansa hesitated, knowing that Oberyn would prefer exacting a win from her brother rather than a marriage, but she remembered that she'd made him promise her. Do not fight duels for her honor again--and here her own brother challenged him to a duel, a duel her brother was sure to lose.

"I will have you, so long as I get to stay in Dorne."

Oberyn smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before leaning in to kiss her.

"I had no other aim, my darling."


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa copes with the marriage she's chosen, keeping herself safe from being drawn back into the games of politics and alliances and planning for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got a truly lovely comment from sam007 and it not only woke up the plot bunny for this story, that comment dumped protein shakes and superfruit smoothies into that bunny's diet. I hope that you enjoy this chapter, it was fun to write and I hope it reads well.

Sansa turned sideways in the glass to look at the bump of her belly. Her mother had shared with her the ways she could try to prevent the skin being marked as it stretched but Sansa had not done more than smooth cream over her belly before her baths. If the babe marked her, the babe marked her, that was all there was to it. Lady Catelyn mourned the fact that Sansa had fallen pregnant, wishing that she had chosen instead to drink moontea dutifully before her husband left to support Queen Daenerys and King Robb in their war. Sansa knew that war was dangerous, she knew that men died of even minor wounds that turned poisonous. She knew her husband was not young.

With that in mind Sansa had bedded Oberyn as often as she could persuade him to, asking Ellaria her advice on how to ensure that his seed took, and praying to the Mother daily to stay her monthly bleeding and instead let a child grow. Oberyn had at first been hesitant to help her in her quest but not because he had been against fathering another child. Instead he let her know that he worried for her safety, observing that she was still on the young side to bear a child.

He respected her decision though, supporting her and helping her when Sansa made the point that Lady Catelyn likely hoped that Oberyn would die and leave Sansa childless. If she was childless she might easily be married off to advantage or packed back home to Winterfell, and Sansa did not want to leave Dorne. That much had been clear from the very first day of their marriage, though, as she had wed him under the name of Elia Rivers.

It had made Lady Catelyn see red but she had been powerless to stop it. The bastard girl that married Prince Oberyn Martell had been brought to the sept on the arm of the Bastard of Godsgrace, for she had no living father. Her husband knew the name she'd been born with but what he gasped that night into her shoulder was _Lia--Lia,_ for she'd asked him if he might still call her by the name she'd taken for her own. Sansa Stark had, after all, disappeared under mysterious circumstances in King's Landing alongside her father and sister. Though her body had never been found she might have even died.

When Oberyn had left her it was with a murmured prayer that she got what she wished and she had made him promise to her return to her. She misliked sending him off into battle for a king and queen whose plans were perhaps more dreamy than realistic for in her most private thoughts she remained Sansa, the daughter of Catelyn. She knew she must keep on guard lest her life as Lady Elia Martell be stolen from her by those who thought they knew better.

The sickness had not been bad enough for her to suspect anything at first, in fact Sansa's hopes had been placed on the fact that as the weeks passed her blood did not come. Her belly of course grew firmer, her breasts became tender to the touch, and with each bloodless week her middle swelled a bit more under her dresses. Not enough that anyone but Ellaria had noticed until one day after breakfast when a tickling flutter left Sansa pressing a hand to her abdomen with a gasp.

"My lady are you well?" Ser Daemon's hand was gentle on her shoulder, his eyes concerned.

"I--I am quite well," Sansa managed, though her voice showed all her confusion and hope. Her mother's eyes pinned her, assessing the looseness of the gown she'd chosen, how it sat on her, and where her hand was splayed out. The game was up, it was time to summon her courage and find out if her efforts had yielded any fruit. "I suspect I may be with child, though," Sansa continued, deciding to soldier on, "if you might escort me to Maester Caleotte I would like to talk to him."

The ancient little maester, the same one who had brought her husband into the world, had cool hands. His voice was wizened but his tones were kind and soothing. He was the only other man who had touched her bare skin but he did it with such skill and dexterity that Sansa was able to relax and let him examine her. While Prince Oberyn's singer-turned-wife was known to be reserved, rarely speaking of private matters, she found herself answering Maester Caleotte's questions honestly. He asked her frankly about her ablutions and what went into her chamber pot, he asked if bedding her husband had ever caused undue pain or left her bleeding, and with each question she answered Sansa understood more and more why her mother had leaned so heavily on Maester Luwin. Aside from Oberyn this man knew the most about her intimate and private life, and in some aspects he would perhaps know more.

Until that day only Arya had ever been told some of these things, secrets that women--including bastard women--were not to share with their menfolk, even in Dorne. It had been oddly relieving to have the maester nodding along, making positive little comments as he pushed and prodded at her body. With the maester she only had to be one person--the woman he was to heal and keep healthy, nothing more.

Being two people in a sense was usually exhausting to her, but it was all more so when there was a third growing in her belly that must be thought of two ways. Sansa Stark knew the importance of having a child, securing her place in her husband's family and tying her to her husband's home--birthing a girl would discourage her brother from pressing the child into his service, too. Elia Rivers knew only that she wanted to birth a girl to lay to rest the persistent rumor that her husband fathered girls because he was not wed to their mothers. What was common between them though was the thrill of having chosen this turn of events and the hope that the child was hale and the birthing go easily on both mother and babe. Maester Caleotte seemed to think that all was progressing in a fine manner and that gave her hope. He had coaxed living babes out of inhospitable wombs, and _she_ was the daughter of Catelyn Tully.

Lady Catelyn had enough decorum, barely, to keep from prying too much. She was still shocked by all she had learned in Dorne. The fact that Arya had married Gendry but lived apart from him was something too far-fetched and bizarre for her to believe until one of the justiciars of Sunspear had produced the record of the wedding. She calmed her nerves by sewing relentlessly, sewing the wolves of the Starks onto swaddling blankets that she gave to Sansa and her sister, and by trying to convince Arya to at least live with her chosen husband.

Sansa kept a few of the swaddling blankets where her mother might see them, but onto everything else her mother made Sansa sewed red suns with orange and black fish circling them. She would tell her child that they were connected by blood to Lady Catelyn Stark and that as their kin the Starks of Winterfell wished them a long and happy life. The suns were to remind them of their father, should he perish without ever knowing them, and the fish to remind them of their mother's birth.

A letter finally reached Sunspear, when Sansa was very soon to go to the birthing bed, that the Lannisters were defeated and that the Targaryens had been restored to the throne. In it her husband stated he would very soon board a ship to return to Dorne ahead of the rest of the soldiers Prince Doran had sent. In private Sansa's goodbrother informed her of the post script: Oberyn expressed hope that he'd helped grant her wish and instructions on naming the child if indeed Sansa was to bear one. He asked that she name the child what she willed if it were a daughter. He requested she entertain the idea of naming the child Olyvar, for its paternal grandfather, should it be a son. Ultimately he trusted she would choose the right name and expressed his hope that the child was easy on her and that she recover quickly after bringing it into the world.

His flowery words meant little though when her time came and the pains started. Oberyn was yet at sea and while her mother was close by Sansa knew how Lady Catelyn thought--the plans she mapped out years and years in advance. She also had Arya close by, steadfastly holding her hand as she struggled and suffered--and she stared into her sister's eyes while she obeyed the maester's instructions to push or hold back, tears slipping from her eyes as Arya wiped sweat off of Sansa's face, sharing a breathless laugh after an ugly grunt. Sansa Stark would have been mortified by such sounds, but Elia Rivers accepted them as part of the process. Arya Stark would have felt her skin crawl at the idea let alone the sounds and smells of birth, but Asha Stone could not bear to be anywhere but by her friend's side.

"You are very nearly done," Maester Myles said over Maester Caleotte's shoulder.

"If you say that one more time I will chop one of your fingers off," Asha growled, shooting a dark look at him while Sansa panted after a hard-- _hard­_ \--push. They had been at this for almost a full day, from before dawn even crept pink tendrils into the sky until now as twilight set in and more and more candles had to be lit.

"But--"

"My lady, this will probably be the worst one," Maester Caleotte said, silencing his helper with hardly even a look, "but after it your little one will just need the body and legs delivered, you are truly nearly done. Be strong for just a little while longer." Sansa tore her eyes from Arya's to look at the maester, nodding in agreement as she felt another wave rising. It was truly the worst one, inexorable and awful to the point that she told herself she was just numb--like sleeping wrong on a limb, the pins and needles were imagined for she was truly just numb. It worked well enough, though the thoughts filled her mind to the point that the next time she could truly focus it was when her mother was gently laying the naked infant on her chest. Sansa sucked in great lungfuls of air, tears streaming liberally from her eyes as she lifted shaking hands to touch the wet hair stuck to the babe's head.

"Congratulations, Sansa, you've given your husband a son," her mother said, refraining from stating that if Robb recognized the child as his nephew then Sansa had just borne the heir presumptive of the Iron Throne. The use of 'Sansa' was enough though, Lady Catelyn trying to remind her that she was the trueborn daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and not a Tully's shame.

"Do you think he will have blue eyes or black, Elia?" Arya was softness itself in her tone but her glare at Lady Catelyn was scorching. Sansa smiled and shook her head, listening to the whines and complaints of her son as he adjusted to the world instead of her mother and sister's snips at one another. When the maesters drew her attention once more to them, asking her to push with the last contractions so they might deliver the afterbirth, she found a second wind through her exhaustion. She had a son, so she had to find the strength because he had none. It was perhaps a glimpse, she thought once Maester Caleotte assured her she was safe from danger and she began to doze off, into her mother's mind.

The weeks after she bore Prince Oberyn's son, giving septons everywhere something to crow about regarding bastards and trueborn children, were lonely though. Her mother and Arya both stayed close to help her, and cuddling her son was a joy that would never dull, but no longer could she sit out in the gardens and press her hand to her belly and feel the secret life she held there. She disliked how sore she remained, how every day she bled, that she could not enjoy Ellaria's attentions in her bed, and that she was too tired to give Ellaria any intimate affection between feeding the babe and her own overwhelming gloominess.

When Oberyn finally returned he found her in the gardens, the child's bassinet at her side but her dress unlaced so she could put him to her own breast. The hair he had been born with had fallen out but russet peach fuzz grew in its place and his eyes were darkening along with his skin. If she looked closely the little boy would grow to have Oberyn's face, if a little muted with the solemn length of Eddard Stark's.

"My love, they tell me you are sad and keep your own company more often than not," her husband said in way of greeting, straddling the low bench she had chosen for the morning. Sansa couldn't help the tears that welled in her eyes, nor could she blink them away before they fell down her cheeks.

"I don't want them to take him away," she whispered. It was a fear she could only admit to him. If only Maester Caleotte knew all about her body's functions then only Oberyn knew all about the workings of her heart. Saying anything to Arya would result in growling and proud words; saying anything to Lady Catelyn would only confirm that others had lofty plans for Prince Oberyn's only son. She had not dared name the child lest there be some order from King's Landing to surrender him. It would already be too painful to give up her son to her brother's wife. It would break her to give up Oberyn's only son.

"They shall not."

"But they are kings and queens that would take him," Sansa replied, a little hysteria creeping into her voice. A king had killed her father, sent her fleeing into anonymity and into the Red Viper's arms. 

"They shall not, Lia, I have warned them what will happen." For the first time she looked up at her husband, drinking in his face and basking in how safe she felt just knowing he was near. Her son had his eyes, he truly did. She'd spent enough time gazing into the babe's little face that looking at Oberyn she could see the resemblance. Oberyn smiled, sadness touching his face only barely, "they shall have to chase us to beyond the furthest horizon to take him, and I have said that if King Robb wants to surely see his sister dead he only has to steal her child from her."

"Kings will do less to secure their position," she said bitterly, though his words were indeed a balm on her fears.

"Your sister would steal him back if I failed you, she stole you after all and brought you here to me," he replied, scooting a little closer and stealing a kiss from her, "I don't intend on failing you though, you are under my protection after all and I take that quite seriously."

"I haven't named him, I know you asked me to but--but I couldn't," Sansa said rather than wrestle with a response to that.

"Had you given any thought to my suggestion?"

"Yes, but if the King took him I did not want to pain you--that the son named for your father was so far away. It is a good name though. I think it might be alright. Lord Olyvar Martell."

"I will go down in some maester's book as a strange and sentimental person--naming my children for my brothers and sister, mother and father."

"Don't forget marrying a girl who was named in honor of your sister and keeping a paramour in the same household," Sansa said, some warmth coloring her tone as she lifted her newly-named son so he could spit up on her shoulder and turning on the bench so she could lean back on her husband.

"Perhaps that will be my lasting mark, a true deviant in the eyes of Westeros rather than a humble poisoner," Oberyn chuckled, moving to kiss her neck and shoulders while wrapping one arm low around her waist. Sansa felt some tension, perhaps the tension that had been making her so sad, bleed out as he spoke. Her mother and brother might scheme but she had married the Red Viper and bore his son of her own true wish--Oberyn would not confine her to their expectations, and she would leave him free to be passionate regardless of duty. Their son would be the lord of a cadet house, bound to serve the Prince or Princess of Dorne above even the will of the Iron Throne, she was sure of it.

"If I have a girl next I shall name her Asha."

"Why?" Oberyn's voice was soft, his voice a pleasant rumble behind her.

"She stole me away, and she directed us here. Who knows what would have become of me without her. Probably still caged in King's Landing, or maybe even dead."

"Asha is a fine name, then, my love. Though I think this one took so much out of you, perhaps we should wait a while for the next."

"I had no other aim, my darling," Sansa replied, her tone arch and imperious enough to show that she made a joke of her words. Oberyn's sudden laughter, loud in the morning air, startled their son and the boy let out a mighty wail to show his displeasure. He is well on his way to being as opinionated as his father, certainly, Sansa thought as she giggled through trying to sooth the baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please do tell me what you thought! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Again I'm sorry for the wonky ending.

**Author's Note:**

> I know the ending is a bit wonky, I apologize! Thank you for reading! Very much, thank you!
> 
> It would mean a lot to me, like a LOT a lot, if you could comment and let me know how you liked this little demon baby monster. Pretty please? Thank you!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [escape](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707377) by [sear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sear/pseuds/sear)




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